


Just A Taxi Ride Away

by deducethegay



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 80slock, Homophobic Language, M/M, lgsm, pridelock, this chapter is safe but there's gonna be a lot of porn my friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deducethegay/pseuds/deducethegay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1984. John Watson is a 30 something out of work miner in a gay bar when he first lays eyes on the young, half naked/half covered in glitter, Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Taxi Ride Away

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be carrying on with this if people like it, it's only the first chapter!

_Nice choice, moron, you obviously don't fit in here._

John scans the club once more, and, nope, he sticks out like a sore thumb. He'd been wandering around London, taken one look at the rainbow neon "SPEEDYS" sign and decided- fuck it. Except most of the men here are young, at least several years younger than he is. He takes another swig of beer, rubbing at his temple as he feels the on set of a headache. The pounding music probably isn't helping, but the blaring of Bronski Beat takes his mind off the bitch of a day he's had. His eyes drift the the center of the floor where a crowd of sweat slicked bodies are dancing, grinding up against each other out of time with the music. It's almost tempting to throw himself into the middle of it, to dance and forget his shithole of a life, forget he's a 37 year old out of work miner forced to move back in with his parents. _Parents._

_Magazines under the bed, Mum crying, Dad screaming blue murder, a fist heading straight for your face, faggot, poof, your eyes stinging_

_"Get out of this house, get out or I'll give you something to really cry about. I swear to God, John I will. GET O-"_

John snaps himself out of the memory, downs the rest of his pint and slams the glass onto the bar.

_No, don't think. That's why you're here. Don't think._

"Same again, mate?" The bartender cocks one perfectly plucked eyebrow at John, watching him as though he's a ticking time bomb.

"Yeah," John clears his throat, flashes his best apologetic smile, "yeah, thanks."

The bartender pours him another pint, which John takes with another sheepish smile before going back to scanning the club. "Tainted Love" is playing now and John finds himself perking up at the thumping beat.

_Sometimes I feel I've got to_   
_Run away_   
_I've got to_   
_Get away_

There's something about this song. It pulses down his spine, clouds his mind with animal instinct. He needs something, needs-

And that's when he spots him.

* * *

 

"Sherlock, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Shut up, Greg. Hold my drink." Sherlock pushes his drink into the punk's hand, laughing as he climbs up onto the table.

Sherlock can never resist dancing to 'Tainted Love', but the dance floor is packed with ordinary people. Besides, if he's up here everyone can see him which, he won't try to deny, is exactly what he wants. He throws his head back and lets the music flow throw him, lets it take control of his arms, hips, legs. He glances down to find Greg shaking his head, looking at him with wide, incredulous eyes. Maybe it's the alcohol, but seeing the punk with his fierce makeup and gelled mohawk looking like a startled rabbit is suddenly the funniest thing in the world.

"You're just showing off!" Greg laughs over the music.

"Of course." Sherlock shouts back, "I AM a show-off. That's what we do."

After all, it was working. As he rolls his hips he's fully aware of several pairs of eyes trained on him. He stretches his arms above his head, admiring the body glitter and gems he'd spent over an hour covering his bare torso in.

He can feel the song resonating within him as he moves with the rhythm, it's what makes him feel alive. This is what he loves, when it's just him and the music. Except... it isn't just him anymore. He's caught the eye of someone at the bar. Something stirs in his stomach as the man, yes man- he has to be in his late 30s, watches him dance. Sherlock slows his hips, tilts his head and exposes the pale skin on his neck.

_This tainted love you've given_   
_I give you all a boy could give you_   
_Take my tears and that's not nearly all_

Despite the dark club, Sherlock can clearly see the man's lips smirk around the pint glass. There's something about this man, sandy hair, average looking- well compared the the flamboyance of the rest of the men here- short, but well built with arms that are clearly used to manual labor.

_Hmm... might as well give him a show_

Sherlock turns so that his back is facing the bar, drops into a crouch and then slowly curves his back as he stands; giving the man a perfect view of his leather-clad arse.

"Sherlock!" Greg scoffs from below, "You're dancing like a complete whore."

"I know." He says with a grin, not sparing Greg a passing glace as he twirls round to see the man gaping at him, beer forgotten on the bar.

* * *

 

John can feel his blood pumping, feel a bead of sweat forming at the back of his neck as the boy on the table dances. His mouth is dry, but he knows full well his abandoned drink won't be enough to quench his thirst. His eyes are fixed onto the boy's muscles contracting under his pale, glittery skin. John's fingers grip his thighs as he imagines running his hand through those gorgeous black curls, pulling them back and exposing that long neck.

"What a tease." John's breath rushes out of him as the boy winks at him from across the room, all the while still swaying those narrow hips.

_He can't be a day over twenty!_

John knows trouble when he sees it, knows this boy probably isn't even legal. Yet all it takes is for the kid to look him dead in the eyes and bite and tug at his lower lip for John to stumble off the bar stool. He tries to make a beeline across the dance floor to the table, but ends up lost amongst the sea of sweaty bodies. He pushes past, swearing to himself as he realizes the club is bigger than he originally thought.

"Hello."

John halts at the voice behind him. It's deep, impossibly deep, too deep to belong to that skinny kid. He turns around and- there he is. Hair damp with sweat, stray curls sticking to his forehead. John drags his gaze up those impossibly long leather-clad legs, hovering over a little badge with the letters 'LGSM' on it. Finally he meets his eyes- John couldn't see before- are a swirling mix of greys, blues, greens, lined with thick black liner. John is utterly dumbstruck at this skinny, topless and, without a doubt, most gorgeous boy his ever laid eyes on. As he opens his mouth to speak, the kid steps forward and hooks his arms around John's neck, leans in and brushes his lips against John's ear.

"Sherlock," He says, "The name's Sherlock."

"Sherlock..." John breathes, and before he realizes what he's doing, his hands automatically reach down and grip Sherlock's narrow waist, pulling him in tight.

A lovely shade of red flushes Sherlock's sculptured face as he smiles coyly at John, "I love this song, do you want to dance...?"

"John," John replies, a smiling spreading across his face as Sherlock's body already starts to sway in time with the music, "and yes, God yes, I want to dance."


End file.
